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I hope Hunter doesn’t feel bad that we’re not having a big wedding, but honestly, that’s not something I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never had much family, and am too private a person to have droves of friends. Even as a child, I imagined a small group, my mother, of course, and my Aunt Anna, and a few other people I assumed I would meet when I was older. But now that my mother is gone, I don’t mind not being surrounded even by those few people I have left.
I have Hunter, and he wants to do this for his mother, and I don’t mind that one bit. I buy a nice dress at a department store near the hospital. It’s white, but simple, definitely not a standard wedding dress. I love the delicate lace and the way it clings to my figure, and it’s still tasteful enough to wear in front of Hunter’s mother. Hunter already had a suit—it’s sharp and fits him well and is more than suitable, a joke that he makes three separate times and yet still, each time, I laugh.
My only request for the wedding was the photographer who came to take our picture in the gardens outside the hospital. Hunter looked less than thrilled when I suggested it, and I giggled, remembering his awkward selfie. But as we stand under a stone arch, ivy dangling down around us, I look up into his eyes, and he smiles.
This may be the first picture in existence of Hunter actually smiling naturally, but if I have anything to do with it, it won’t be the last.
Hunter’s mother is Lutheran, so Hunter got a minister from her church to come perform the ceremony. The nurses wheel her into the tiny chapel in a chair, attached to an oxygen tank and a mass of IV bags on a portable stand. Yet somehow, she’s still wearing a beautiful purple blouse and a pair of slacks, though she has slippers on her feet rather than shoes. Hunter got permission to bring in Cocoa, and she sits at his mom’s feet while his mom gently pets her head with one hand. Hunter and I both kiss her on the cheek, and then we stand at the front of the chapel, and the minister reads us our vows.
For richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, until death do we part. These words should scare me, and they do a little. What do I really know about this man? How much could he have hidden from me in the few weeks I’ve known him?
But his hands are in mine, my Hunter, and he’s smiling at me like he’s never been so happy in his life. And I can’t help but feel like whatever brought us together, the two of us are everything good and right in the world, and while this may be an impetuous choice, it also feels like a right one.
“I do,” I say, and Hunter does too.
The ceremony is over quickly, and the photographer takes one more picture of the four of us—me, Hunter, Cocoa, and Hunter’s mother. Someone, perhaps one of the nurses, has tied a white ribbon to Cocoa’s collar, so she’s practically a little flower dog.
When it’s over, before she’s taken back to her room, Hunter’s mother reaches up and hands me a small jewelry box. Inside is a necklace with a single pearl.
“My mother gave it to me. And I always wanted to give it to a daughter. I was going to leave it to Hunter for his future wife, but it’s so lovely to be able to give it to you myself.”
I smile and hug her again, and then put it on. The one perfect pearl hangs on a tiny silver chain, shorter than the silver star that I wore even today so that it hangs perfectly right above it.
“Thank you,” I say.
She beams at me, and then Hunter and I are on our way out of the hospital.
Hunter holds my hand, his smile wider than I’ve ever seen it, and he opens the door to the truck to let Cocoa and I in. Before I climb up, he sweeps me into his arms, kissing me against the side of the truck, and I kiss him back with everything in me.
God, I love this man, and I couldn’t be happier to be his bride, mail ordered or otherwise.
We spend four perfect days in our cabin in the woods, during which we file the paperwork so that I can stay in America.
On my fifth day as a married woman, I’m sitting with the remains of breakfast, checking my email on a tablet just after Hunter has gone up to work when I receive an email from a name I don’t recognize. I open it, hoping its information about my green card.
Ms. Sophia Kelly, it reads. I have urgent news about your inheritance. Please call immediately. There’s a name: Sam Kelly, someone I don’t know, and a phone number in Ireland.
I grab the phone Hunter got me. It’s an
international call, and will no doubt be expensive. I think for a moment about asking Hunter before I call this person. It’s probably a scam, after all. My mother didn’t leave me an inheritance, and I have no other family.
But that name Sam Kelly sounds familiar. I think I remember my mother saying something about a brother named Sam, though she didn’t like to talk about her family, and always said that those that were left weren’t people we wanted in our lives.
I suppose I’d always believed her.
I pick up my phone and dial. It takes four rings before the man on the other end answers.
“Sam,” he says.
“Hello,” I say. “This is Sophia Kelly. You sent me an email.”
“Yes,” Sam says, sounding almost surprised to hear from me. “Sophia, your mother was Alice Kelly, correct? Of Waterford?”
“Yes. That’s where she grew up. But she didn’t leave me an inheritance, and I’m not going to wire you any money to get one.”
Sam chuckles. “No, I assure you, we’re not asking you for money. The inheritance is from your grandmother, actually. She died a year ago, though it’s taken me awhile to track you down. I actually went to the grocery store and found a woman who had your email. I understand your mother passed away?”
My grandmother?
